


New Skins, New Ceremony

by AstroGirl



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: M/M, The Fall - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-14
Updated: 2019-12-14
Packaged: 2021-02-26 06:40:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 471
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21789172
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AstroGirl/pseuds/AstroGirl
Summary: They twist and transform as they Fall.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 8
Kudos: 39
Collections: Genprompt Bingo Round 17





	New Skins, New Ceremony

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Gen Prompt Bingo, for the prompt "Mutation/Transformation." Many apologies to Leonard Cohen for the title.

They twist and transform as they Fall. 

He can feel himself changing. No. No, he can _feel the victors changing him_. Melting his skin into scales, distorting and defiling the shape in which She created him.

The voices of the Host echo mockingly down from Heaven. "Vermin!" they spit at the vanquished, and laugh as the word becomes reality. _Vermin._ They Fall, and when they land, they land as snakes, and toads, and flies.

Hypocrites. Weren't these the angels who professed to love all of God's creations? He doesn't know if he's more offended on behalf of the rebels, or of the innocent creatures whose shapes they've been given to humiliate them. Poor things. Barely off the drawing board and already Heaven hates them.

He tries to blink away the ash, the afterimages of the flame, but his eyelids are gone. His eyes are open, whether he wants them to be or not.

He tries to speak, but there's something wrong with his tongue. The tongue that got him here, that couldn't stop asking questions. There seems to be more of it than there used to be.

And his limbs...

"I'm all..." he manages, his voice a hissy whisper. He used to sing, once. He sang some of the stars into being. "I'm all _crawly_!"

He regrets that outburst. He regrets that for a long time. Because it's already begun, the turning on one another. He can hear it in the way a toad croaks out a mockery of his words, the way a fly buzzes its disdain above him.

They were companions, once. A moment ago. But now, they are vermin.

**

In the endless night of Hell, they dream themselves slowly back towards what they were. Eventually most of them learn to transform without becoming stuck, misshapen and screaming, between animal and angel. But it is never quite the same. They can never truly believe that they are angels still. They can no longer remember themselves as lovable and dignified and clean.

He is better at it than the others. He dreams easier and believes more sharply than the others. He spends more time among things lovable and dignified and clean.

He can pass, if not for heavenly, then at least for human. Mostly. But he can never escape his eyes. He can grow human eyelids over them, to blink them when he likes, when he bothers. He can cover them up with darkness and glass. But he cannot change what they are. Vermin eyes. Brimstone eyes. Always open. Always.

**

After the end of the world, at their beginning, Aziraphale touches his cheek. Careful, reverent fingers caress the frames of his glasses, tug them softly away, expose him to the light.

"My serpent," the angel says. "My lovely serpent. You have the most beautiful eyes."

And Crowley feels himself transformed.


End file.
